


A Proper Snog

by Underlined in Red (Underlined)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rare Pairings, Rough Sex, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26509699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Underlined/pseuds/Underlined%20in%20Red
Summary: Hermione asks Cormac to accompany her to Slughorn's Christmas Party.He agrees, and states his price: a proper snog.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Cormac McLaggen
Comments: 20
Kudos: 204





	A Proper Snog

**Author's Note:**

> Dirtiest thing I've ever written.  
> This is extremely dubious, and you really should heed the warnings.  
> That said, enjoy!  
> (Edit: The italics are showing properly now. My bad!)

How dare he! 

Hermione staggers backwards as the image of her once-best-friend and his Lav-Lav burns into her mind. She raises a hand to stifle her gasp, shocked and honestly a little betrayed. The couple remains blissfully unaware of the audience they now had. 

Have they not heard of silencing charms? Honestly! It's like they _wanted_ someone to find them!

She ought to split them up; take twenty points from Gryffindor. Each! But instead, she flees. 

A myriad of emotions consumes her focus as she wanders the hallways up to Gryffindor tower. 

Denial, realisation, disappointment, hurt, and finally rage. 

Everyone knows she’s infatuated with the lanky red-head. Is Ron that dense, or is he _choosing_ not to notice? 

She recalls the whispers from last Saturday. “Apparently Weasley rejected Granger because she’s too much of a prude to sleep with him. He’s with Brown now because _she_ obviously would.” 

Just because Ron walks the path of least resistance doesn’t mean that she is a prude, damn it! 

And he can’t possibly reject her for something she hasn’t technically offered. 

She certainly isn’t going to offer him _anything_ anymore. 

She utters the password to the Fat Lady and tilts her head up in defiance before stepping through the entryway. She’s a prefect, and she’s going to stay composed. 

Striding purposefully into the Gryffindor common room, she takes stock of the night owls who are gathered in the common room in lieu of sleep. There is a handful of Seventh Years who are either cramming for their N.E.W.T.S. or are simply savouring their final year. 

She easily spots the person she is looking for; Cormac McLaggen. 

She walks over, noting the crystal tumbler of smuggled firewhiskey in his hand (she ought to remove points for that) and his heated gaze on her. 

She suppresses a shudder. He still has her on his radar. Perfect. 

His eyebrows raise inquisitively as she plops onto the sofa next to him, a little closer than is necessary. 

“McLaggen.”

“Granger.” He tips his glass towards her in greeting, “Fancy a drink?” 

“No thanks. I’m going to bed.” She takes a calming breath and squares her shoulders, “I wanted to ask if you would like to go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with me?” 

His initial curiosity morphs into smugness, “I’d love to, Granger. But what’s in it for me?” 

“What do you want?” 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Sleazebag McLaggen wants. 

Cormac's lazy smile splits into a Cheshire cat-like grin. He tucks her errant curls behind her right ear and leans over. Lips close to her ear, he whispers, “I want a proper snog, at the party.” 

She shivers at his proximity. 

His lips brush against her earlobe in a soft peck before he pulls back to gauge her reaction with bated breath. His fingers idly continue to play with her curls. 

Nodding, she jumps up from the sofa, eager to escape and collect her bearings. She is too upset to think straight that night, and Cormac definitely isn't one to think twice about taking advantage. 

Nevertheless, a snog, she could do. Cormac McLaggen _is_ objectively attractive, with his muscular physique and bad boy smugness, even though he _is_ also a right prat. Plus, it’s not her first kiss. That had gone to Viktor the year before. Not that she is that concerned about a social construct, anyway. 

“Right. I’ll see you at seven, then.” 

“I’ll be right here,” he sips at his firewhiskey, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing visibly, “Looking forward.” 

She thinks she’s off her rocker as she turns tail and scampers up the stairs to her dormitory, her heart beating fast. 

-

Hermione’s doubts fade the closer it gets to the party. 

Ron’s attentions on Lavender have not ceased, and she is frankly done with being treated to a show whenever she is on patrol duty. She thinks they are deliberately being exhibitionistic.

Multiple times, she has been tempted to suggest that Cormac collect early on the snog, just so Ron can get an eyeful. And possibly an aneurysm, if she is lucky. 

She had been slightly guilty about leaving Harry in the lurch with no date. The guilt was short-lived, however, as she realised that Harry had simply _assumed_ that they would go together until _she_ had broached the subject and corrected him. 

Seriously, are all the men in her life going to treat her like a reliable back-up plan?

Luckily for Harry, Luna had agreed to attend. And so, Harry is now on his way to Ravenclaw tower to escort her. 

Hermione, on the other hand, will be alone with Cormac on the trek to the dungeons. 

She trembles in a mixture of anticipation and fear. “Godric, please let me make it out of this alive and in one piece. It's just a snog,” she mutters under her breath as she stares at her reflection. 

The dress she has on was purchased when she’d been feeling a little over-confident. But now that she has to actually wear it out, it feels too revealing with a décolleté neckline that shows off too much for her standards. 

She thinks she looks pretty in it, but she isn’t trying to draw attention to herself. 

No, she is not a prude! She is just sensible! 

Deciding it to be a waste not to wear it at least once, especially when she _is_ trying to upstage Lavender Brown, she steps out into the common room. 

True to his word, Cormac is lounging on the exact same maroon-coloured sofa, his back to her. At least he’s punctual. 

She spots Lavender across the room, peering at her suspiciously. No doubt because Ron is curiously missing in action. 

Inhaling a fortifying breath - half her intended audience is better than none, and Lavender was sure to pass the message - Hermione sashays to the sofa and lowers her hands around Cormac’s eyes. “Guess who,” she whispers lowly. 

She sees Cormac’s grin as he gently tugs at her wrists. 

“Granger.” He presses an open-mouth kiss against each palm. 

Her cheeks heat. Trust Cormac to put on a show. 

From her peripheral vision, Lavender's eyes narrow in suspicion. 

Cormac lets out a low whistle as he stands and appraises her. 

"You look delectable, Granger," he purrs against her ear, his lips wrap around her earlobe, sucking softly, "Good enough to eat," he pulls back and his eyes linger lecherously at her décolletage. 

"Thanks, you don't look so bad yourself," Hermione plasters on a smile. Cormac has on black tailored dress robes that accommodates his height and shows off his physique. 

It is the opposite of Harry and Ron's ill-fitting dress robes from last year's Yule Ball that practically dwarfed them. 

She finds herself thinking of how fit Cormac really is, and anxiety floods her brain. Will she be able to deny him if he got handsy? 

She recognises that she is playing with fire, but the ugly waves of jealousy emanating from the blonde girl in the corner spurs her on. 

Throwing caution to the wind, she links an arm through Cormac's offered one, as they exit the common room as a couple. 

Throughout the walk and Cormac's incessant rambling, she feels a smidgen of annoyance creep up her spine, settling in her head. Merlin, Cormac is a braggart who can’t shut up! 

She briefly weighs the consequences of silencing him as she nods noncommittally at his words for the millionth time. 

-

They stop before the double doors to the Potion's classroom as Cormac finishes detailing his achievements from his first five years at Hogwarts. Hermione in turn has a full on headache from the incessant droning. 

"Granger, you look a little queasy. Are you alright?" Cormac asks, his eyebrows furrow in worry. 

She nods, waving a hand dismissively. 

"It's nothing. Probably just nerves." 

His eyebrows raise in mischief. 

"Let's loosen you up a bit, shall we?" He tugs on her arm, leading her to an empty alcove. 

He steps in behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. 

"Just relax, Granger. I know a bit about massages. This should distract you from the nerves," he whispers in the semi-darkness, reassuring her of his intentions

She supposes a massage would relieve her of the headache. 

He starts slow, softly kneading at her shoulders. His thumb seeks out the stubborn knots caused by days of lugging her heavy book bag and nights of poring over her assignments in the library. 

His fingers flutter up her neck, working into the muscles surrounding her spine, up to her head, where his fingers sneak under her hairline and slowly press into the base of her skull. Thoughtfully, he restricts his movements to avoid outright destroying her hairstyle. 

It feels quite wonderful, actually. 

Does he often induce headaches that he had to learn how to relieve them on a regular basis? Or perhaps is it the other way around? 

As his hands continue to dig gently into her scalp, she feels pinpricks of… something that she can’t quite identify. Her head feels heavy as that _something_ steadily blankets the initial headache. She bites her lip, pitifully holding back the moan threatening to escape. 

Without warning, her knees buckle in her relaxed state, jolting her back to reality. She finds Cormac's hands on her hips, steadying her. 

Flushing with embarrassment, Hermione turns to thank him, and notices Cormac's intense gaze, the usual light green in his eyes eclipsed by his overblown pupils. 

Strange, she hadn't pegged Cormac as the sort to get off on giving pleasure. Actually, now that she ponders on it, he _does_ like to brag about his prowess. 

Cormac shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and reaches his hand to tuck the few riotous curls that he had set free behind her ears. 

"I have a feeling you wouldn't want to go in there looking like we'd just made out," he says with a smirk, and he winks, "Although I'm definitely not opposed to the idea." 

He gives her a peck on her cheek. 

Hermione just smiles weakly and lets him lead her into the party. 

-

The two of them greet Slughorn as soon as they spot him. Cormac drags her close and curls his left hand around the back of her waist as they chat about his Uncle Tiberius and her bright future at the Ministry. 

The conversation becomes weary, and she becomes distracted as his thumb traces patterns into her spine, sending mini-shockwaves through her that has her concentrating extra hard to not lose track of what she is saying. 

Eventually, Slughorn tires of them as Harry's arrival is announced at the entrance. 

Hermione flashes Harry a commiserating smile as Slughorn asks them to enjoy the party and bumbles towards the most famous Slug Club member. 

His hand still on her back, Cormac steers her to a dimly-lit corner behind a set of sheer plum drapes and presses them into the space between column and wall. 

It is early in the party, and people are still occupied with mingling and mindless chit chat. Their presence will hardly be missed, he reassures her with a smile. 

Her heart pounds in her ears as she peers up at her date. He smirks down at her in a feral way, tracing her cheek with a finger that results in goosebumps. 

“I think, Hermione,“ he leans over and whispers into her ear, her given name rolling exquisitely off his tongue, “That I would like to collect on my reward. Now.” His lips brush against the sensitive skin under her jaw and she shivers. 

Cormac takes her reaction as permission, and he presses barely-there kisses on her jaw, her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids, the edge of her lips, and finally. Finally. He captures her lips softly. 

Hermione had honest-to-god expected to endure an over-enthusiastic, unnecessarily intrusive, slobbering affair, as characterised by Cormac’s approach to romancing her. 

But this. This is a direct juxtaposition of her caricature of Cormac. 

His lips are soft against hers, as is his touch on her waist. He's handling her like a porcelain doll and her heart soars stupidly at that. Normally, she finds this sort of behaviour chauvinistic. But somehow, when it is coming from a… a brute like Cormac, it seems almost endearing. 

Cormac’s free hand rises to cradle her cheek, thumb stroking on the soft skin, bringing her back to the now. She leans into his touch, responding, and she feels his relieved sigh against her lips. The bout of pinpricks from earlier re-appears and she never wants to stop. 

Tentatively, she places her hand on his shoulder to anchor herself, less she loses her mind, or the strength in her legs. 

She feels his tongue teasing against the seam of her lips, begging entrance. This is uncharted waters for her, and she feels a thrill up her spine as she parts her lips uncertainly to welcome him. 

As if he senses her apprehension, his tongue boldly swipes against hers lazily once, twice, taking charge while she gets used to the motions. 

Her anxiety melts away with new-found familiarity and she finds herself relaxing, meeting him touch for touch, swipe for swipe. Her contradictory heart beats faster. 

She groans as she chases his retreating lips. Her eyes open reluctantly to find his dilated pupils staring hungrily at her. He looks like he wants to _devour_ her. 

She tugs him back down, stretching on her tiptoes to meet him halfway. 

Instead of the patient kiss they'd just shared, this one is different; aggressive. 

Hermione’s hands find purchase in his hair, marvelling at how tame his short curls are compared to hers. She tugs on them softly, mussing them in silent retaliation. The edges of her mouth quirk up against his mouth at the nominal amount of control she feels she regains. 

She gasps as Cormac closes the small distance between them, crowding into her limited personal space. He moulds his firm body onto hers and she feels _something_ against her belly. 

His hand wanders up her waist, brushing surreptitiously against the side of her breast, drawing out a languid moan from her. He grins then, peppering kisses down the column of her throat as his hand snakes into her hair. His mouth latches onto her sensitive pulse point and he sucks _hard_. 

She should smack him for marking her without permission, but she is a little distracted by the hand inching down her thigh, past the length of her skirt. A flame ignites low within her belly as the hand slides under her dress and drags back up against her skin until it rests temporarily on the side of her knickers. 

She gasps as a finger digs under the cotton and traverses backwards, where he caresses her bum. 

Suddenly, the hand is retracted and her thigh is lifted to rest on his hip bone, where she instinctively hooks her knee around. The change in position slots his bulge onto her heated core and she feels downright sinful. 

His mouth crashes onto hers and swallows her ensuing moan. Encouraged, he rolls his hips against her heat languorously. He swallows that moan too. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, Granger. I’m losing my _fucking_ mind,” he growls the words against her lips. 

A finger curls around her lifted thigh, grazing against the dampness on her knickers and she quivers deliciously. 

"Merlin, you're soaking wet," Cormac chuckles darkly, taking stock of her slack-jawed expression. 

No fucking shit, Sherlock. 

He attacks her neck again, his hands liberally stroking her through the thin cotton of her knickers. He grinds against her sensitive bundle of nerves, and she is brought higher and higher into oblivion. 

Her body arches into his. 

Does she really want to go there? 

He thrusts. 

She moans softly and loses the ability to think. 

"Cormac," she mewls desperately. 

She feels his fingers slip under her knickers, and oh! A jolt of electricity shoots through her spine as he gathers her juices and begins to circle her clit gently. 

Her wandering touch against his shoulders, back, chest grows more frantic, as does his. She grits her teeth as the speed and pressure on her clit intensifies. All she hears are heavy breaths and wet friction. 

She looks at him through lowered lashes and sees that his eyes are hyper-focused on her, staring intently, observing and cataloguing her every expression. 

He captures her mouth in a searing kiss as she jerks. With a final pinch of her clit, she comes hard, clenching and unclenching around nothing. Her back arches uncomfortably as she digs her fingers into his shoulders, as she descends into madness. 

Merlin, so this is what it's like!

Dazedly, she feels his fingers withdraw. Her eyes flutter open and she is greeted with the erotic sight of Cormac licking her arousal off his fingers, his eyes burning her own.

Her cheeks redden. 

Curious, she asks, "What does it taste like?" 

Cormac smirks, "Delicious." He dips his index finger back to her dripping opening, teasing her clit for a second, then presses the soaked digit gently against her lips, "Try it."

She stares at him uncertainly, but he is already spreading her juices on her bottom lip, his finger teasing at the seam between her lips. 

She relents, and her tongue darts out timidly against the intrusion, tasting herself for the first time, on his fingertip. 

It doesn’t taste specifically of anything, just a strange fusion of mild salt and tang. 

She sucks on the offered digit, her tongue rolling around it to clean it thoroughly. 

A low growl interrupts her efforts and Cormac withdraws his finger from her eager mouth. His expression is feral now, desire evident in his dark eyes. 

"Don't set about doing something you can't finish, Granger," he warns with a thrust against her wet core. 

She shudders at the promise of corruption at the hands of this arrogant boy who cares close to nothing about her on a personal level, but still manages to be a generous lover. 

Girls like bad boys, and it seems she's no exception. 

"What makes you think I’m trying to do that, McLaggen?" she taunts back, making a show of licking the wetness off her lips. 

She _wants_ him to do dirty things to her, but damned if she is going to beg him for it. 

He studies her defiant expression for a short moment, and smirks, "I'm going to leave the party in 30 minutes. If I see you outside of this party tonight, I'm taking you against the nearest surface." 

She shivers at the thought of being taken in the common room in front of an audience, feeling renewed desire pool on her knickers. 

She nods, not trusting her voice. 

He unhooks her leg from its perch on his hip and smooths down her dress, indecently feeling her up in the process. 

"I look forward to seeing you later, Granger," with one last nibble on her earlobe, he steps aside to let her pass. 

-

She scampers to the nearest loo to freshen up, glad that she doesn’t encounter anyone en route. 

She casts a scourgify on herself and briefly considers burning her knickers. 

She observes herself in the mirror. Her hair is a mess, but isn’t really any worse than its usual state. The love bite on her neck is thankfully hidden by her curls. The only tell is her swollen lips, which she decides hastily to pass off as lipstick if anyone asks. 

What about his invitation though? 

Does she really want to give up another of her firsts to someone who is obviously just trying to get into her pants? 

He is kind of pushy, in a I'll-show-you-a-good-time-even-if-you-don't-know-you-want-it-yet sort of way. 

It frightens her to think that she would have let him escalate their encounter in her lust-fuelled state earlier. 

Now that her mind is clearer, though, she finds she cannot decide. 

He obviously knows what he’s doing. So, is the alternative necessarily better? 

Frustrated, she casts a contraceptive charm and rejoins the party. She doesn’t trust herself and she sure as hell doesn’t trust Cormac. 

She spots Harry and Luna in conversation at the periphery of the party, partly hidden by the sheer drapes. Harry looks like he has a million other places he would rather be, while Luna wears her usual serene expression. 

She joins them. 

"Harry, I see Professor Slughorn's moved on to greener pastures? Good to see you, Luna."

"Yeah. I can't believe I have Blaise Zabini and his new stepfather to thank for that," Harry runs a hand through his hair absentmindedly. 

"Good to see you too, Hermione," Luna echoes her greeting before continuing, "Have the wrackspurts come to visit? You do seem a little stressed. Disheveled, too." 

Hermione likes Luna, she does. But she never quite knows how to react to her mix of mythical nonsense and spot-on commentary. 

"Oh. Uh. I've just escaped, I mean, I've just left McLaggen. Under the mistletoe. He was getting a little handsy." 

She absolutely cannot let anyone know what really happened. 

"That's what you get for inviting the Sleazebag, Hermione," he glances around at the party, "He's coming, 2 o'clock. Is there anything I need to hex him for?"

Probably. 

She shakes her head. Deciding to high-tail it out of there before he makes good on his promise, she ducks behind Harry and Luna as Cormac comes into view. 

As he steps under the drapes to join them, she circles around and exits on the other side. 

She catches Cormac's question on her whereabouts and feels an anticipatory twinge low in her belly. 

Checking her watch, she is 20 minutes into Cormac's stipulated time. 

She bids farewell to the Professor, claiming that she has an assignment to work on (she did, it’s due the week after next). 

Professor Slughorn graciously bids her adieu, his attention captured by the Carrow twins. 

She steps out from the party by the 25th minute, spotting Cormac from the corner of her eye. 

The trek on the way back is thankfully silent, save for the anxious clicking of her heels on the stone floor. 

The dopamine has depleted by then, and she finds she can think clearer now. 

Her promise to Cormac was only a snog. Anything more was optional and doesn’t serve her purpose of making Ron jealous. 

She rushes towards the safety of her dormitory. 

-

She rounds the last corner to Gryffindor tower and freezes in shock. 

Her abandoned date leans against the wall to an empty classroom, smirking at her like the cat that got the cream. 

"Wha- I _know_ I left before you!" She sputters indignantly. 

"And _I_ know a shortcut," he states simply, pushing himself effortlessly off the wall and swiftly makes it to her side in three long strides. 

His hands land on the small of her back, steering her towards the empty classroom despite her protests. "I said I'll take you against the nearest surface, but I don't think you're quite ready for an audience yet, _Her-mi-o-ne_." 

The door clicks shut behind them, and before she can react, he presses her hard against the cold stone wall, leaning his weight on her. His lips linger close to hers and he stares into her uncertain brown eyes and whispers a locking and silencing charm on the room. 

He accios the wand hidden in her dress and carelessly flings it to the back of the classroom. 

He stows away his own wand and cages her in, his palms slapping onto the wall behind her. 

His eyes close as he presses gentle kisses on her lips, his soft lips romancing her, until she relents and responds in kind, mewling at the tenderness of his touch despite his menacing posture over her. 

Their kiss deepens, quick and urgent with need as his left hand lands on her chest, grasping her shoulder with his fingers, palm skimming the top of her breast. She secretly pines for more. 

His right hand twines into her hair, taking liberty in messing it up now that there is no party to return to. He gives a sudden backwards tug, exposing her throat for his lips to trail against. 

She feels his grin against her skin as he hums in approval. 

"You didn't hide it," he chuckles, licking over the love bite he had given her earlier, "Naughty girl." 

Her retort is cut off as his left hand slides down and he palms her breast over her dress, thumb tracing over her covered nipple. She bites down on her lips, desperate to keep the whimper from escaping. 

Cormac takes no offence in her silence. His mouth attaches on her clavicle where he gives her a playful nip and sucks on the skin there. 

He trails wet kisses down over her exposed cleavage as he peels the flimsy shoulder strap of her dress down to rest uselessly against her arm. His tongue pushes past the confines of her bra and rolls around her hardened nipple before scraping it against his teeth. 

“Oh!” she gasps as the sensation shoots straight down to her belly. Her hands clench at her sides. Her mind falters and she tries to remember what is so bad about feeling so good. 

Surreptitiously, Cormac unzips her dress. He wastes no time in unclasping her bra and releases her perky breasts to his attention. His mouth encloses around her nipple, sucking, licking while he gently kneads it’s twin with his right hand. 

Her breath quickens at the headiness that returns. 

“You’re so sensitive,” Cormac comments, blowing on one wet erect nipple, and tweaking the other one between his fingers. 

“Ohhh...” she moans involuntarily before her shaky hand covers her mouth. 

She recognises absently that his voice had lowered and she wonders if he is just as aroused as she. 

Cormac dips his mouth over her other breast and roams his now-freed right hand over her body. His touch ignites a flame in its path, down her ribs, over her flat stomach, rounding her waist to rest on her bum. He fondles a cheek over her knickers just as he’d done to her breast. 

Sneakily, his fingers inch lower, lower until he is stroking her slit through her knickers as her hand presses even harder to stop her moans. 

“Fuck. You’re so wet,” he groans, releasing her tender breast, “Come for me, Granger.” 

He dips a finger under her knickers and slowly, so slowly, sinks it into her tight heat. With a crook of his finger, she is gone. 

Her walls clamp against his finger with her release as her legs lose strength and she sags. 

He hauls her up as she crumples spinelessly, and pushes her harder against the stone wall. She feels the uneven stone jutting painfully against her skin as his free hand supports her weight on the underside of her bum. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come, Granger. So fucking tight. Am I going to be your first?” 

Her eyes fly open at his words, just now remembering that she is still undecided about going so far. “I don’t think we should… I mean, we’ve barely spoken. We don’t even know each other that well. May-maybe if we spend some time… Ah!”

It seems Cormac has selective hearing, as he starts pumping his finger up, down, slowly in her warmth. Her hands reach to halt his movements, but he is far stronger than her. He ends up bringing her hands along for the ride, until the building pleasure overrides her reluctance and she’s not sure if her hands are opposing or encouraging his movements. 

Suddenly, his hand retreats, and he slips out of her grip, disappearing from her blurry vision. With a tug, he drags her flimsy cotton knickers down as he sinks to the ground. His hands force her legs out of her knickers and spreads her thighs apart. 

She tries to wrap her mind around the fact that she is completely naked, save for her sensible heels. When did that happen?

And then she releases a small scream as his hot tongue laves the length of her slit, up and down. He gathers her juices into his mouth, pausing every now and then to flick against her clit. 

Her eyes flutter close as she reaches for his head, tugging his mouth closer. She is rewarded when his tongue probes past her entrance, seeking a proverbial fucking spring, exploring her, as she _pants_. 

She feels downright dirty as the obscene slurps and smacks reverberate around them. As his fingers dig desperately into the skin on her thighs. 

She is so close, if he would just- 

Without warning, his tongue withdraws, and she groans at the loss, laying her head against the wall, catching her breath. She's too distracted to hear the rustling of fabric.

The clink of metal hitting ground alerts her to his presence, and she blearily peers at him through the haze of her waning desire. He has shucked off his robes, and is stepping out of his trousers and briefs. 

He grins at her like a predator as his face practically _gleams_ with her irrefutable arousal. 

He stands and she can’t help but stare at his erection. She knows from the books she’s read that he is larger than average. 

She gulps as he steps between her legs and his member bumps against her stomach. 

“We shouldn’t-,” her hand splays against his chest, trying to reason her way out as the burning starts to wane. 

Ignoring her protests, he slides his cock under her, coating it liberally with her juices. 

The shallow groove of his penis rubs deliciously against her clit as he strokes her laterally, not quite penetrating. 

Her face flushes as her body responds, matching his movements in kind, slow and sensual, onward and retreat, enjoying the stimulation. 

His lips finds hers again as his tongue flits against hers, an imitation of what is happening below. His right hand slips behind her head, massaging her scalp lightly as his left trails up and down her ribs. 

It is easy to pretend that Cormac cares about her, that she wants this. 

The building pleasure consumes her, and suddenly, she sees stars. She gasps for air and _shakes uncontrollably_. Her wetness gushes out and trickles over his length. 

“So fucking beautiful.” 

With that, Cormac lines himself up against her entrance and plunges in, breaching the barrier to her innocence. The intrusion shocks her right into another weaker peak, and her muscles spasm painfully around his member. 

“You really are a naughty girl. Getting off on losing your virginity,” he purrs wickedly against her ear. 

He grabs onto both her wrists, pinning them above her head against the wall within one of his, stilling her movements. 

“Let go, Granger,” he mumbles, which she finds ironic and would have rolled her eyes if she isn’t so fucking occupied with her struggle to focus in her post-orgasmic high, “I’ll show you a good time.” 

As her high subsides, his betrayal overcomes her. She glares in fury at the unrepentant boy as his organ _throbs_ painfully against her walls, her cervix, her being. 

He just smirks back stupidly and she almost _hyperventilates_. 

His free hand skims her breast as he ducks down to assault her sensitive pulse point, drawing out a reluctant moan as she struggles to differentiate between pleasure and pain. 

He pulls slowly back until only the head of his cock is seated within her tight quim. He gives her a second to just breath, before he pounds forcefully back into her with a grunt, wringing a strangled groan from her. 

In and out, he strokes into her at a leisurely pace, hissing as her teeth sinks into the sinewy muscles in his back. Her groans turn into quiet sighs as the initial pain morphs into unwanted pleasure. 

His thumb mashes her over-sensitive pearl against his nestled cock, and she keens, her back arching, her chest pressing lewdly against his. 

“Say my name when you come, Granger. I want to hear my name on your lips. I want you to acknowledge who is giving you this much pleasure,” he grunts as he pinches her clit, bringing her over the precipice again. 

“Ugh!” she chokes out her climax as she collapses against the cool wall that was a diametric contrast to her overheated body. Her head falls back, thankfully cushioned by her upraised arms. 

She claims a little victory for defying him. 

Cormac’s thrusts become erratic as his own release becomes imminent. He buries his length deep within her as hot spurts coat her fluttering walls. He holds them in place, emptying every last drop into her. 

“Naughty girl,” he snarks with a chuckle as he withdraws his flaccid cock from her warmth. He tugs her boneless body to the nearest bench, “Looks like somebody still wants to play.” 

He pushes her roughly, face-down onto the cool wood, and kicks apart her still-trembling legs. Her face flames as their combined fluid drips down her legs. 

Fingers prod at her soaked entrance, playing with the wetness there before they retreat. He presents two wet fingers, pressing them against her mouth. 

“Lick this up, Granger,” he taunts, “You made this mess, now clean it up.” 

She’s about to protest that _he_ is the one at fault, but holds back. She’s not about to give his already-enlarged ego a boost. 

His free palm connects against her bum with a resounding smack. 

She gasps in pain, and Cormac takes the opportunity to force his fingers into her mouth. 

“Easy there. No teeth, or it’ll be more than a spank,” he coos. 

The offending palm soothes over her bum then slides down over her slit. 

She tentatively rolls her tongue over his fingers, sampling their salty and just slightly bitter combined discharge. 

She stiffens as Cormac unceremoniously plunges two fingers into her wet heat, pumping slowly in and out. Undeterred by her reaction, his fingers in her mouth imitate the ones below as she fights back the reflex to gag. 

Hermione suspects he has a thing for symmetry. 

“Good girl,” Cormac pulls his fingers from her mouth with a vulgar pop. He leans over and turns her head to face him. “You’re going to be begging me to come, Granger,” he whispers conspiratorially, then leans down to steal kisses from her stubborn lips. 

His fingers in her speed up, and her cheeks burn in shame as the awful squelching bounces off the walls of the classroom. 

He whispers _so wet_ against her lips every so often and she feels more liquid heat escape. 

His thumb lands on her clit and she twitches. 

When she thinks she can hold on no longer, he stops. He just… stops; pulls his fingers out and stops kissing her. 

She strains to stare up at him in confusion. 

“You haven’t begged, Granger,” he explains patiently. 

“I’m not doing that, McLaggen," she retorts as she gulps in lungfuls of air, "Don’t waste your time and just let me go." 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Cormac chides, forcing her back down, “We’re not done until you beg.” 

Ever so slowly, his hands glide up her back and begin working away at the remaining kinks. They trail down in her back, her waist, her bum, her thighs, and her calves, deliberately avoiding the place she needs him most. 

The prickling of arousal returns with his ministrations, and she _jumps_ when a finger brushes against her slit. 

He drags his hands up her body to cup her sensitive breasts, and pretends he hasn’t noticed her reaction. 

He lifts her torso slightly off the table, palming her breasts in both hands before leaning over to claim one in his mouth, sucking and slurping unabashedly. As he leans over her, his erection brushes against her ever so slightly and _she whimpers and she squirms_ , clenching her inner muscles in an attempt to find the elusive release. 

“Tell me what you want, Granger,” Cormac urged, voice like velvet, and she struggles to _not react_ at the way his voice reverberates in her ear. 

She shakes her head, refuses to admit to herself that she _wants_ to be taken by an unforgivable, arrogant prick, referring both to him and his stupid _glorious_ cock. 

She groans as he straightens, his body heat leaving hers. 

She tries willing herself to a climax, grinding against the unrelenting bench to bring herself over the edge that she is teetering so close to. But Cormac apparently has other ideas.

He hauls her up to face him, and seats her on the wooden bench, her wrists held loosely within his left hand. 

Her legs part as he steps between them. Her head is tilted up with his finger, and she looks as Cormac's hungry eyes search her features and linger on her swollen lips. 

She prays, _prays_ that he would kiss her again. 

And he does. 

He gently cups her cheek, and presses lingering kisses against her lips and her heart _flutters_ against logic. 

She eagerly responds. 

He doesn't allow the kiss to devolve into the urgent madness she so badly craved, and slowly, her body calms from its overheated state to a heady enjoyment. 

As her breathing slows, he releases her hands, opting to touch her. 

She wraps her hand around his neck, pressing her chest against his languidly as she sighs into his kisses. 

His hands find their way to her thighs and travel ever so slowly inwards. His thumbs gently brushes over the skin on her inner thighs. 

"Please," she breaks away and groans wantonly. 

She pretends he's not the arsehole who had stolen her virginity. 

"What, Hermione?" he queries softly. 

"Please. Touch me," she whines as she reaches to caress his cheeks. 

The next swipe of his thumb dances across her clit and she moans low and deep. 

The one after runs across her wet opening and she gasps. 

Then he teases her, swiping his fingers lightly over her sensitive skin. 

"More," she groans, and grabs onto his bicep, "Please!" 

He inserts a finger in her and asks, "Like this?" 

"Mmm…" she nods desperately.

He pumps the digit in and out as she struggles to sit still. 

He drags his hand out, squeezing three fingers into her and she groans at the snug fit. 

He pumps her leisurely, bringing her to a frenzy as she cries out in ecstasy. 

And then he stops. Again. 

The bastard. 

"No! Don't stop! I'm so close!" she pleads, her hands slip to grasp his arms. 

"What's the magic word, Granger?" 

"Cormac," she relents, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, "Please! I can’t take anymore!" 

"Your wish is my command, Princess," he sends her a haughty smirk that tempts her to smack him silly. 

Her thoughts fly out the window as his digits re-enter her without delay, ramming into her as her juices trail down onto the bench.

With a beckon of his fingers, she _screams_ , her eyes roll backwards and she spasms _hard_ on his fingers. 

She pulls him close to her sweaty body and absolutely _convulses_ against him, biting down on his shoulder so that she wouldn't _pass out_. 

Eventually her climax subsides, and she realises belatedly that she is lying on her back, and _something_ is moving within her. 

Cormac is leaning over her, her arms still clutched around him. He pants harshly as he drives himself shallowly into and out of her with a steady rhythm, lubricated by her high. 

The squelching echoes around them as he whispers _filth_ in her ears; tells her that this is what she really wants; tells her what a little slut she is; tells her that her tight, wet pussy feels so good on his fat cock. 

And she finds there is not one claim that isn't true. 

"Look at me," he commands as he grinds into her, reaching even deeper than before. 

Her eyes flutter open and he continues, "Tell me. Who is fucking you now, Granger?" 

"You. Cor… Cormac McLaggen!" She stutters as he collides against the sensitive spot that makes her see stars.

"I’m going to make you come again," He promises, rolling his hips against her deliciously. 

She wonders if it is even possible. She is tired and sore. 

His thumb finds her over-sensitive clit and gives it a playful tweak and she thinks, yesyes _yes_ she still wants to come. One more time. 

"Please, Cormac!" she begs against logic. 

"Good girl." 

He slams into her mercilessly, his weight suffocates her and she can do nothing but hold on for dear life as she whispers her pleas and chants her yesses into his ear.

As his movements start to jerk, he brings his thumb against her clit in a twist and she crests, bringing him over with her. 

They lay as a quivering mess of sticky, tangled limbs as her greedy cunt milks his spent cock. She draws in small breaths as she waits for Cormac to move, or for herself to pass out from exhaustion and lack of oxygen. 

Thankfully, Cormac recovers fast and she thinks bitterly that he is probably used to these kinds of hit-and-run situations. 

He withdraws his softening cock from her crevice with a satisfied grunt and stands, observing her as their combined discharge trickles down her arse to puddle on the bench. He pushes the leaking cum back into her hole with a finger as she squirms at his scalding touch. 

The shame floods back into her cooling body as she avoids his gaze. She stares off to the side, unseeing, at the walls, recalling with horror what she's done that evening. She hears the rustling of fabric as Cormac dresses. 

He approaches the bench in impeccable dress robes and messy hair, his pale green eyes glinting under the moonlight. His hand carelessly traces her clammy body, fondling a naked breast as he says one last thing to her. 

"I only asked for a proper snog, Granger." 


End file.
